


Any Other Patient

by savorvrymoment



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Dysfunction, priapism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savorvrymoment/pseuds/savorvrymoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~After several more seconds of tense scrutiny, Fenris finally stands up from the cot, movements awkward and uncomfortable, and drops trow. Anders is left staring, and quickly repeating to himself, 'any other patient, any other dick, any other priapism...'~  Old one-shot moved from livejournal.  Written for kink_bingo & dragonage_kink in 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Other Patient

Anders hasn't seen one in ages, not since that night in Denerim at the Pearl. They're small things, usually with the look of little beaded runes, and lay people mistake them for precious jewels all the time, trying to sell them at market stands for high prices. Of course, no need to explain the awkward situations those sales always seem to bring about.  
  
That said, Anders has no idea how one ends up in the medicinal run from Lady Elegant that morning. Maybe she'd seen it and thought he could sell it, use the money for his clinic? Though that seems wildly out of character for the woman, giving away something she thought worthwhile. More likely, she found it and thought it would be amusing to send it to him. He frowns at where it lays at the bottom of the woven basket, nestled amidst clean bandages and elfroot, its surface an odd iridescent blue. He wonders if she's primed it, though that seems to be taking the joke a bit too far.  
  
Still, loathe to take any chances, he lays his hand just over it, removing all dispellable effects before picking it up. It won't remove the desire magic deeply engrained in the object's core, he knows, but it will keep him from turning into a raving sex lunatic before the day is out. As far as destroying the cursed gem? Anders figures his best bet there is to take is by Hawke's place and let Sandal take care of it. Maker knows the kid has dealt with worse.  
  
He's made up his mind to do just that, the cool stone of the gem clasped tightly in his palm, when a woman comes barging in the clinic doors with a screaming infant. He sets the gem down on his work desk without thought, suddenly too concerned about saving life to be worried about destroying artifacts.  
  
~*~  
  
Hawke comes by a few hours later, Fenris and Varric in tow, requesting assistance with a band of thugs in the sewers. Anders stares at the man in exasperation, then looks pointedly to the clinic full of patients around him. Varric nudges Hawke in the side, obviously trying to keep the recently-deemed Champion from starting a battle of wills.  
  
Fenris ignores them all for once, going over instead to rummage around on Anders' work desk. He returns to Hawke's side momentarily with a few hastily swiped health potions, giving Anders a cursory glare as he passes.  
  
“Good luck,” Anders tells them as they turn to leave. He realizes after the door is already shut behind them that he needed to ask Hawke about Sandal, and the rune-type sex-thing. But then the moment has passed, and someone is crying in pain, and his mind is elsewhere.  
  
~*~  
  
It's late that night, the clinic all but cleared out, when Anders steps out to extinguish the clinic's lantern only to come face to face with Fenris.  
  
Fenris: the man's appearance alone has Anders taking a step back in surprise. The elf isn't clad in his armor, instead wearing a loose fitting white shirt hanging haphazardly off one shoulder, and doeskin leggings. Anders would wonder how he managed to get from Hightown to Darktown without some sort of protection, if the elf wasn't currently lit up like a firecracker and dragging a greatsword in the dirt behind him. As it is, he looks manic, and Anders doesn't blame the Coterie for clearing out of his way.  
  
The only thing Anders can come up with is, “You don't look so good.”  
  
Fenris' lip curls, and Anders waits for the inevitable tirade to come. However, Fenris seems to stop himself, mulling his words over, before finally saying, “I'm in need of your assistance.”  
  
“Well there's a new one,” Anders says, then watches as Fenris face goes through a series of emotions. Irritation. Anger. Exasperation. And finally to resignation. He takes a firmer grip on the greatsword and drags it alongside himself, trudging through the open door of the clinic and inside. Anders takes one last look around, before dousing the lantern and bolting the clinic doors behind them.  
  
He gets a better look at Fenris once they're inside the clinic. The elf has settled down a bit now, glowing dimly in the already muted light, and has dropped his greatsword to the floor. He's fidgeting, obviously uncomfortable, and _oh..._ Anders realizes suddenly, _that_ would be why.  
  
“Well, I see why you're here,” Anders says, unable to help himself. He gets a glare worthy of death itself for that, and Anders wonders why he's being such a smartass considering the circumstances. Maybe because, for once, he can get away with it.  
  
But instead of yelling, Fenris just buries both hands in his hair, seemingly trying to pull it out, and says, “You don't understand... It has been this way for seven—no, almost eight hours now. I can't _do_ it anymore.”  
  
With this new information, the healer in Anders takes over, suddenly leaving the bitter, persecuted mage-thing behind. Call him pathetic, but it's been his weakness all along. “Eight hours?” he says, incredulous, already moving the elf toward a cot. “You realize over four hours is considered priapism?”  
  
“What?” Fenris snaps, uncomfortably arranging himself to sit on the cot.  
  
“Priapism—a prolonged erection. And not the fun kind,” Anders says. Then, the most logical question, “What did you take?”  
  
“They didn't teach slaves erectile health, I apologize,” Fenris sneers, before answering. “And I haven't taken anything. What reason would I have to take anything?”  
  
Anders wants to say, _A Hawke-like reason._ But instead just clarifies, “No little blue vial?”  
  
“No,” Fenris snaps. “It just—happened. We were headed back from the sewers, from taking care of those thieves, and it just _happened._ ”  
  
“Well, I bet that awkward,” Anders says, and receives an angry grunt from Fenris for his efforts.  
  
“I don't think they noticed,” Fenris says. “At least I hope not... I beat it back to Hightown as soon as I could—and I swear, if you so much as breathe a word of this to...”  
  
“ _Beat it_ back to Hightown...” Anders sniggers, unable to help himself. Mistake of the century, though, if Fenris' wide eyes and flattened ears are anything to go by.  
  
“You'll forgive me if I _do not_ find this funny,” Fenris snarls. “Not in the least.”  
  
Anders swallows, and says, “I'm—I'm sorry.” He goes to pat the elf consolingly on the shoulder, but thinks better of it at the last minute. Dropping his hand back down by his side, he just says, “I'm not being very professional.”  
  
Fenris is silent for a moment, grinding his teeth together, before finally just saying, “Do something. Just fix it. Please.”  
  
“Okay,” Anders says, telling himself this is just like any other patient, with any other dick, with any other case of priapism. _Oh, blast it all to the Void..._ “Okay, just, if you could step out of your trousers?” he asks, not allowing himself to be cowed under Fenris' murderous stare, and tries one last time, “You know, it would be much easier if you just told me what you took. Viaweed? Ciaroot?”  
  
“I have not taken _anything_ ,” Fenris snarls again. “I have no reason to.”  
  
“Then,” Anders says, figuring he'll knock out another few reasons, “you aren't currently sexually active?”  
  
“No,” Fenris says hesitantly, eying Anders with trepidation. Then, “If you tell anyone of any of this, I will crush you, I swear it.”  
  
And the thing is, Anders is fairly sure he isn't even exaggerating. “Confidentiality,” Anders says. “None of this will leave this clinic. I promise you.”  
  
After several more seconds of tense scrutiny, Fenris finally stands up from the cot, movements awkward and uncomfortable, and drops trow. Anders is left staring, and quickly repeating to himself, _any other patient, any other dick, any other priapism..._  
  
Fenris is hard as a rock, his erection flushed an angry red, but what grabs Anders attention more are the lines of lyrium that swirl down from his pelvis to curl around his cock and cradle his balls. They're all at once beautiful and obscene, and Anders averts his gaze before he says something he'll regret.  
  
He isn't, however, as bad off as Anders was expecting after eight hours. A good sign, all things considered.  
  
“If I can find out what's causing it, I hopefully won't have to manually drain you,” Anders says eventually, more to himself than anything else, and finally gets up the nerve to reach out and touch him. He curls his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger around the base and presses gently, feeling for bumps or lumps or anything that might indicate a vascular obstruction.  
  
The reaction is immediate. Fenris groans, so low and guttural that Anders can practically feel it in his feet, and watches the elf's toes curl helplessly in pleasure. He lets go, a little stunned, and looks to where Fenris is staring at him in a mix of lust and embarrassment.  
  
He asks the first question that comes to mind, which is, “Have you had an orgasm through all of—this.”  
  
“I have been,” Fenris starts, obviously picking and choosing his words. “Unable to reach climax.”  
  
It's probably the hottest way of simultaneously saying _'I'm horny as all the Void'_ and _'I've been jerking off like a motherfucker'_ that Anders has ever heard. He is never going to be able to look at this elf the same way again. “Okay, let me just,” he says, standing up to head over to his work desk, not really sure what he's going to do, but then his eyes land on that little blue iridescent gem. “Oh, shit!” he says, with feeling.  
  
“What?” Fenris says, sounding both nervous and curious.  
  
“Uhm...” Anders says, already dreading the answer to this question. “This blue rune-thing over here? Did you, by any chance, touch it earlier today?”  
  
Fenris peers over toward him, head raised and neck prettily elogated. “That thing?” Fenris says, pointing to what Anders is already pointing at. “It was sitting in front of the health poultices—I moved it out of my way. Why?”  
  
 _Damn it all to the Void..._ “I've figured out what's wrong,” Anders informs him. “Though I have a feeling you aren't going to like my solution.”  
  
~*~  
  
“You are toying with me, mage...” is Fenris' immediate response to what Anders has to tell him. Not that Anders is particularly surprised. In fact, if their positions were reversed, Anders would probably simply get up, put his trousers back on, and find himself a different healer. One who wasn't claiming they needed to have sex. Or rather, at least touch intimately...  
  
“I wouldn't toy with you, at least not about this,” Anders says. “There's desire magic in the rune. It's a two person system—the first person who touches it 'primes' it, and the second person becomes the thrall. It's just how it works.”  
  
“What blighted mage came up with this?” Fenris snarls.  
  
“It's nice, when used consensually. Enhances pleasure,” Anders says, which is the wrong thing to say. Fenris glares daggers at him, and Anders quickly goes back to what he was doing. He washes his hands, wets a cloth with what clean water he has available, and picks up a small tub of grease. Fenris eyes him warily as he walks back toward the cot, so Anders says in what he hopes is a calm, professional tone, “It's okay, Fenris. We'll take care of it, and then you can go back to Hightown, and we won't speak of this again.”  
  
“It's not okay,” Fenris says, but it lacks a lot of heat. He seems mollified by the assurance that they can pretend this never happened once it's over with, and he watches Anders silently as Anders sits down on the cot next to him, tub of grease in his lap and wet cloth in hand.  
  
He cleans him gently with the cloth first, and any smart remarks Fenris may have made about Anders and hygiene are lost as he sucks in a hard breath. The elf seems torn between being overly sensitive from the prolonged erection, and wanting more, ending with him writhing in place, stomach muscles tensing and releasing. For a moment, Anders thinks he's going to go ahead and come right then, quick and to the point. He gives him a little more pressure, pulls up, slides down, but Fenris hisses at that, shying away. _Too sensitive_ , Anders realizes, apologizing as he puts the washcloth aside.  
  
“S'okay, just, too much,” Fenris tells him, and Anders nods, giving him a quick once over at his opens the tub of grease and slicks his hand. The elf is panting gently, a somewhat dazed expression on his face—the desire magic has fully taken hold, Anders can tell. It'll be over soon.  
  
But Anders also can't help but notice how nice the elf looks like this: calm, relaxed, giving in to his own pleasure. The white shirt still hanging from his body, revealing one well-defined shoulder and the delicate ridge of his collarbone, has Anders particularly aroused for some reason. Maybe it's the sheen of sweat it's exposing, maybe it's the way it contrasts with the elf's tan skin, maybe it's just the way the oversized shirt is making his body look so small and elven...  
  
But Maker damn him, he's always had an elf thing. _Damn_ that Dalish Warden Commander and his revealing leather armor.  
  
With his hand slicked with grease, Anders slowly slides his palm up the underside of Fenris' cock, feeling both ridges of lyrium raised against the skin. The noise he gets in response in sinful, and Fenris lets his head fall back, throat exposed. Anders watches him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing with the motion, then go back to panting, and Maker damn him...  
  
This incident is not going to stay in the clinic, Anders is aware. It is going to follow him through the back and to his bedroom for a furious jerk-off session once this is all through. _Damn it all to the Void..._  
  
Then Fenris' head rolls to the side, lust-blown green eyes locked onto Anders, and mutters something in Arcanum. “Sorry?” Anders says, still working his dick, and then Fenris grabs him by the front of his robes and drags him close, mashing their lips together.  
  
It's a hot kiss, the sort where Fenris is trying to eat him alive and Anders is just hanging on for dear life. And it's wrong, so wrong—Fenris is still under the rune's spell, and technically Anders' thrall. He should push him away, and be responsible. But Maker, he grabs the elf by the back of the head with one hand, cradling him close, and keeps pumping with the other.  
  
Fenris might kill him with this is all over, but it will all have been worth it.  
  
Fenris pulls away from his lips to gasp, and then grunts, “I'm going to come.” And when he does so, his body shudders gently and he spasms and spurts in Anders hand. Anders follows his face, dragging his lips along the elf's jawline as he orgasms, and groans at the hot, sticky come dripping from his hand. It seems natural from there to lick his own hand clean—and damn it all, he can taste lyrium in the elf's semen.  
  
So. Totally. Worth it.  
  
He watches Fenris as the man starts to come down from the high, his cock still thick and heavy but comfortably so, resting against his thigh. Anders watches him shudder through an aftershock, and swallows down his own desire. He's never known these runes to have any effect at all on the other person as well, but maybe this one is different...  
  
“I thought—I,” Fenris says, seemingly trying to steady himself. He narrows his eyes at Anders, and Anders can only imagine how he looks. Hair half pulled out its ties, eyes wide, probably a bit of come smeared on his lips. But...  
  
“I fixed it,” Anders points out helpfully. Fenris looks down at his crotch as if to verify this fact, then back up at Anders.  
  
“You licked my semen from your hand,” Fenris says, almost incredulous.  
  
“It, uh—seemed like a good idea at the time?” Anders tries, inwardly wincing as Fenris stands up from the cot. He waits for the blue glow, the buzz, the fist. A lot of blood, and a lot of pain. What he gets instead is Fenris crowding in close, forcing Anders to spread his legs and allow Fenris to stand in between, or be knocked aside. He bites back a groan when Fenris closes a firm hand over his crotch, and he swears he hears Fenris growl in reply. “You _cannot_ still be under that spell,” he mumbles to himself, reaching up to take the elf's chin in his hand. “Hey, stop! Look at me.”  
  
He gets Fenris' attention, even if the elf doesn't stop massaging his trapped erection. His stare is intense, and crystal clear. “I'm not enthralled,” he says. “But I'm not done either.”  
  
“You hate me, remember?” Anders tells him. “Look, you're still going to feel aroused for a while, but you can go now and—take care of it—yourself. The thrall is broken.”  
  
“I don't _hate_ you,” Fenris says, something Anders is suddenly more inclined to believe as the elf tries to dig his way into his trousers. “I just hate most of what you say. But I feel we may be able to establish a—working relationship.”  
  
Anders can't help himself. He reaches out and smacks Fenris on the cheek, light and quick, because the elf is clearly just shell-shocked. There's no other explanation for his behavior. Fenris takes a step back, blinking in surprise, before he once again schools his features into a cool, collected expression, eyes narrowed.  
  
He backhands Anders across the face in reply, adding, “That was for taking advantage while I _was_ enthralled.” Then, before Anders can even gather his wits about him, hand clutching his reddened cheek, Fenris says, “What was it you told me earlier?” A pause, with an emphatic tug on the front of Anders's pants. “Oh, yes. _Step out of your trousers._ ”  
  
Anders is stuck between hopping to like a schooled Mabari, and falling all over himself. Fenris takes a step back as Anders stands, allowing him to shrug out of his outer robes which are suddenly all too hot, and bend down to remove his boots. After a moment of unlacing, he feels Fenris' hand on his head, fingers tangling in the already mussed up ponytail. It feels good, fingernails scritching against his scalp, an odd counterpoint to the powerplay that has been going on. He presses up into the sensation, suddenly finding himself eyelevel with Fenris' still-hard cock.  
  
Anders leans forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the shaft and then letting his tongue drag down to the crown. The sent of the elf's prior release is still thick and heavy, and it makes Anders groan, hand reaching out to steady himself against Fenris' thigh. Fenris' fingers close in his hair, pulling, and the elf mumbles, “Don't stop.”  
  
So Anders fists his shaft and promptly goes down on him, his trousers half off and one boot still on. Fenris pushes and pulls at him all at once, and finally groans out, “Fuck all, no, don't stop _undressing_.”  
  
“Oh,” Anders says, letting go of Fenris and sitting back of his haunches. Fenris' cock bobs obscenely in front of him, slick with his spit, incentive to quickly get the other boot off and shimmy out of his trousers and smallclothes. When he stands up, Fenris immediately spins him around to face the cot, pushing him down to rest his elbows on the cloth surface. Anders does as he's bid, only resisting a bit out of principle, and shivers deliciously when Fenris crowds up behind him.  
  
Fenris runs a hand up Anders back, under his tunic and against skin, and Anders sighs, arching his back under the attention. His ass presses back into Fenris with the motion, the elf's cock rubbing against him. Fenris chokes on a moan, his hand skating back down Anders back to grab his ass. He gives him a few appreciative pats on the rump, and Anders can't help but chuckle.  
  
“Something humorous?” Fenris asks him, though it holds no heat. Anders can hear the smirk in his voice.  
  
“I just would never have taken you for the 'top till you drop' type,” Anders says.  
  
“You expect simply because I was a slave, I should lie down and take it?” Fenris shoots back, slightly more snappy but still with a smirk.  
  
Anders swallows. “That's not what I said,” he corrects. He feels Fenris moving around behind him, hears the _click_ of the grease tub. “I assumed you were more of a wine and moonlight sort of guy.”  
  
“I can do that too,” Fenris says, and Anders gasps as he feels the elf's slicked fingers begins teasing at his asshole. “I'm very multi-talented.”  
  
Fenris surprising gentle as he eases two fingers into his ass, especially considering. Anders almost turns over his shoulder and tells him to just get on with it, but then the elf is crooking those two long fingers and oh... His cock jumps, dripping precome down on the dirt beneath him. He wants desperately to reach a hand down and get himself off, but at the same time he wants to wait. It'll be better if he just waits.  
  
It's been so long since he's been with someone. He tries not to think of Karl anymore. What resemblance of a tolerable relationship he has with Fenris may not survive this, but _Maker_ —the sheer physical release of just being with someone else...  
  
He feels the bump of Fenris' cockhead against his ass, and he gasps, cursing, spreading his legs. He must look like a wanton slut, he realizes, arching his back and spreading his legs like an invitation. Fenris doesn't say anything about it, though—at least, not in any language that Anders can understand. He just presses forward, and groans as he's sheathed.  
  
It's good, so good. Anders grits his teeth through the inevitable burn, but what lasts is that pressure against his prostate, and this pleasant feeling of fullness. Fenris is talking to him in a language that isn't the Common, and Anders lets it wash over him, completely aware that whatever it is coming out of the elf's mouth is filthy, the tone of voice alone is clue enough as to that. He reaches back behind himself to grab at Fenris, a silent communication and an anchor, and is rewarded by a caress along his spine.  
  
Anders shudders, and Fenris keeps that one hand planted on his back as he starts thrusting.  
  
~*~  
  
“How, exactly, did this happen?” Anders asks finally.  
  
Fenris glances over at him, lying next to him in the pile of pillows and blankets Anders calls his bed. Even after round two, the elf is still lazily rolling his hips against the pillow beneath him. Anders doesn't think Fenris even knows he's doing it, and tries to ignore it, though it's increasingly difficult.  
  
“I mean, if someone had told me this morning that you'd be sleeping here tonight,”Anders says. “I'd have hit them.”  
  
“You left the rune sitting out on the table,” Fenris says, sounding half asleep. “What exactly were you expecting to happen?”  
  
“I didn't mean to do that,” Anders quickly says. “It'd shown up in a stack of supplies, and I'd put it aside to take to Hawke's.”  
  
“So... you could seduce him?” Fenris asks, sounding somewhat accusatory. Anders rolls his eyes.  
  
“No. Maker, you're insufferable,” he says. “I meant to have Sandal destroy it, but then the clinic filled up, and I never made it out of here.”  
  
“I see,” is Fenris' only response, the elf still slowly undulating his hips, pressing his cock into the pillows. Anders watches him through heavy-lidded eyes, before finally reaching out to touch the small of his back. The elf sighs at the contact, stilling his movements for a moment, and Anders takes the opportunity to slide his hand down over smooth skin, over his tight little ass, and finally to grab the back of a thigh. He pulls on him gently, and Fenris takes the hint, rolling to throw his leg over Anders hip.  
  
He starts rolling his hips again once settled, this time against Anders hip. His half-hard cock is sticky wet, a reminder of what has passed between them. The lyrium in Fenris' skin is giving him an odd sort of high, and he feels dazed, beyond happy. He wonders if he'll still feel this way in the morning.  
  
“One more time,” Fenris says, pressing against him a bit harder. Anders lets his hand wander down Fenris' side, and smooths his thumb over his hipbone. “Then I swear, I will leave you alone.”  
  
“I'm not complaining,” Anders says, letting his arm drape along Fenris' ribcage, cradling his back. The elf bites at his collarbone in reply, and Anders closes his eyes, riding out the storm one last time.  
  
~*~  
  
When he wakes up the next morning, Fenris is gone, his greatsword and discarded clothes gone along with him. Anders quietly cleans up the mess they left from the night before, and then cleans himself up. He reopens the clinic once he's dressed and presentable, and begins treating the morning's patients with a preoccupied mind.  
  
Hawke comes by that afternoon with Varric and Isabella—Anders immediately hones in on Fenris' absence. He sends them on their way without him, but not before wrapping the sex-rune in a cloth and giving it to Hawke.  
  
“Take this to Sandal, and ask him to destroy it,” he tells the Champion. “Do _not_ unwrap it, and do _not_ touch the rune.”  
  
He emphasizes this about three times, and prays to the Maker that the thing makes it to Sandal without any further incidents. The last thing he needs is to have to explain to some other unfortunate friend why exactly they have to sleep with Hawke.  
  
Thinking back on it, he should have just kept the rune wrapped in a cloth in the first place.  
  
~*~  
  
He isn't prepared for Fenris to arrive that evening. In fact, the first thing he thinks about is the elf's health, and he's frowning before he even thinks about it. Asks, “What's wrong?”  
  
Fenris seems taken aback by the concern, and says, “Nothing. I simply wanted to give you this.”  
  
He sets a ring down on a cot next to Anders. It's worn and tarnished, obviously old. And obviously Tevinter in origin. “What, are you proposing?” Anders quips, unable to help himself.  
  
“Do not test me, mage,” Fenris says, the familiar snarl back in his voice. “I simply wanted to thank you for your services. This should fetch a decent price.”  
  
Anders stomach lurches. “What exactly are you trying to pay me for?” he snaps. “I'm not a whore.”  
  
“No, that is not...” Fenris starts, frustrated, scratching at a temple. “I came to you for healing, which you provided before we—we may have—I...” He huffs to himself, and finally just says, “Take it. I am one of few people you treat here who is able to pay you. So take it.”  
  
Anders frowns. “I'm not sure I understand,” he finally says. Then tries, “A token of good will?”  
  
“A token of good will,” Fenris agrees. Then, almost hesitantly, “And an invitation?”  
  
Anders grins. “Ah,” he says, “an invitation.”  
  
He gets a smirk in reply, though there is nervousness held around the edges. “So,” Fenris says. “What do you say?”  
  
“I say—when and where?” Anders answers.  
  
Fenris just barks out a laugh, and replies, “I suppose we'll see.”


End file.
